As I walked down a familiar street
During midday,
I watched my shadow and thought:
I am not an attractive woman.
I watched my hair,
Wisps of painted threads,
Move roughly and ridicule my face.
I watched my hips, and thought large—
And he watched them, too.
I remember he had looked away quickly
As if to acknowledge those thoughts
Of myself,
And I continued down the dark pavement
Trying to ignore the shadows of us both—
Forgetting I was even there.